


Domestic Harmonies 7: The Bedroom (Compromising Positions)

by Mizmak



Series: Domestic Harmonies [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Part 7 of an 8-part slice-of-life series where Crowley and Aziraphale learn how to live together.  In the bedroom, they have different views on sleeping, cuddling, and when to wake up a sleepy demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Domestic Harmonies [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762777
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Domestic Harmonies 7: The Bedroom (Compromising Positions)

“No,” Aziraphale said when Crowley suggested moving the sleek, modern bed from his old Mayfair flat to their South Downs cottage. “This is a 1920s bungalow, and I already let you demolish the bathroom and turn it into a modern monstrosity—“

“Which you _adore_ —“

“Which I enjoy tremendously, however, that is not the point. In terms of matching with the rest of the home, it is a monstrosity. I shall not have modern décor creeping into the rest of the place.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“We could use the bed from the flat in my bookshop.”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Now, _that_ is a true nightmare, Angel. It has a _canopy_.” He’d slept in it on more than one occasion, when finding himself too drunk and too unwilling to sober up to go home. That bed had to be from Victoria’s realm—an ornately carved four-poster with multiple mattresses that were so high they practically needed a step ladder to climb onto.

“Of course it has a canopy. It’s stylish.”

“It’s not stylish, it’s downright dangerous. There are _curtains_ hanging all round the dang thing—I tried to get up once in the middle of the night and almost strangled myself on them!”

“Fine. What do you suggest, then?”

“We go shop for a new bed, that’s what I suggest, and get something we both like. _Simple_.”

It had not been simple.

“Too soft.”

“Too hard.”

“Too high.”

“Far too low.”

“Not big enough.”

“Too big.”

“Too cheaply made.”

“Too expensive.”

“What? What do _we_ care about money?”

“We don’t. It’s the principle of the thing. It is overpriced.”

“Right. Bugger this.”

After a week of wearing down nearly every furniture salesperson in the greater London area, they finally found a bed that was neither too large nor too small, with a mattress which was not too firm or too soft, at precisely the right height, with a headboard and footboard that pleased both of their décor requirements—which in Aziraphale’s case meant lovely floral carving on the tops and which in Crowley’s case meant he didn’t care if it had archangels carved on it so long as nothing about the damned thing was trying to entangle him in unnecessary curtains.

“Right. That’s sorted, then.” The new bed was duly delivered and set up, which sent Aziraphale off on another round of endless shopping in search of the perfect sheet sets and coverings.

Crowley told him to get whatever he liked. He was so done with the whole process. He just wanted to _sleep_ , thank you very much.

And he also wanted very much to sleep curled up next to an angel.

Aziraphale returned quite a few hours later with enough piles of sheets and pillowcases and comforters and blankets to cover a dozen beds. “I simply couldn’t decide. They were all so lovely.”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley sighed, sorted through the many overly floral designs until he found a simple, sky-blue set of Egyptian cotton sheets, and a relatively plain comforter in a white-and-gold pattern. “These will do.”

“Are you sure? What about this delightful tartan blanket?”

Crowley made a series of indecipherable sounds which clearly meant, at least in his own mind, _Not if I were freezing in Antarctica_.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Well, then, if that’s how you feel. I suppose it could go on the library chaise instead.”

_Oh, hell_. That was his favorite place to lounge when Aziraphale was noodling away at his desk in there. “Yeah, er…on the other hand, maybe it could just be folded up at the foot of the bed…might not be so bad.”

“Right.” Aziraphale smiled. “ _Perfect.”_

It wasn’t, but oh, well. Compromise was in order—he’d been learning, ever since they’d moved in here, that if two people, or two supernatural entities, wanted to get along in the same space, there had to be compromises.

And after all, it was a bedroom. For sleeping in. 

He wouldn’t actually have to _look_ at the tartan if his eyes were firmly closed.

So that was sorted, then.

They had, at least, agreed on one thing from the start of their bed-sharing experience: the proper pyjama fabric. 

Cotton had proved too warm for two bodies snuggled together, and satin turned out to be too slippery, while silk was just right. Black, naturally, for Crowley, and a creamy beige for Aziraphale.

They could not, however, agree on the same bedtime. Crowley tended to nod off around eleven, while Aziraphale stayed up reading until midnight or even one a.m. 

This was not conducive to a good cuddling, since Crowley would be off in deep sleep by the time his angel deigned to slip beneath the covers.

“Wake me up when you come to bed,” Crowley insisted one night as they sat on the sofa. The angel had his nose deep in a book, while _he_ was ready for sleep.

Aziraphale’s manners, however, were too refined for that sort of nonsense. He took his lovely nose out of the book long enough to reply, “I couldn’t possibly disturb your slumber, dear boy.”

“But I _want_ you to disturb me. What’s the point of sharing the bed if I sleep through the comforting bit?”

“The what?”

“You know—where you wrap yourself around me, or I wrap round you, or we manage to find a way to wrap ourselves round each other without trapping an arm underneath the other one’s side and it winds up going numb—you know, the part of sleep that’s _comforting_.”

“Ah. Yes, I see. But if you are asleep when I come to bed, I can still wrap myself around you.”

“Yeah, but I won’t _know_ that.” Didn’t his daft angel get the whole point of being in bed together? “That’s one-sided cuddling.”

Aziraphale frowned. “My dear, if I wake you up, which is terribly rude, and then we cuddle, which I do rather enjoy a great deal, you will still just fall back to sleep within ten minutes. You always do.”

“Right. I’ll fall to sleep _knowing_ that we’re embraced, _knowing_ that you’re beside me, that I’m not all alone there in the dark. I just like to be aware of you there, _before_ I wander off into dreamland.”

“You know, most nights you wake up at some point anyway, several hours after I’ve come to bed, so at _that_ time you know that I’m there. Doesn’t that suit just as well?”

Nope, he wasn’t getting it. “I’m usually too drowsy then to even remember waking up before I fall back to sleep.”

“Really? You do know that you _talk_ to me during those times?”

This was news to Crowley. “I do?” 

“Quite affectionately, I might add.”

“Huh.” He did know that he tended to wake briefly most nights somewhere between two and four in the morning, and now that he thought about it, there were vague memories of murmuring into Aziraphale’s ear and nuzzling his neck during those interludes, but the details always faded away before dawn. “What do I say?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Mostly random endearments—you like to call me ‘darling angel’ a lot, and ‘my sweet Aziraphale’.”

“Erk.” Not that he didn’t feel that way—he just liked to be _aware_ that he was saying such things when he said them. “Guess that’s not too awful.”

“No, it’s quite nice.”

“Yeah, well, I still want you to wake me up when you come to bed. It’s not rude if I _want_ you to do it. In fact, it’s bad manners to refuse a reasonable request from someone you love.”

“It is?” 

“ _Yes_.”

“I see.” Aziraphale shut his book. “Perhaps you’re right. It might be best if we simply went to bed at the same time, then.”

“But you were reading.” Oh, hell. Now _he_ was being rude for interrupting Aziraphale’s enjoyment of his book.

“Your comfort is more important to me.” He rose from the sofa. “Come along, then.”

Crowley stood, yawned and stretched, and then followed Aziraphale down the hall to their bedroom. It was all about compromise. Sometimes he had to do so, and sometimes it was the angel’s turn. After all, _he_ had compromised over the tartan blanket.

They changed into their pyjamas, and slid beneath the sheets.

Crowley turned onto his side to wrap an arm around the angel. “You could always try reading in bed, after I nod off.”

Aziraphale brushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I may try that sometime, though not tonight.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead. 

Crowley returned the kiss, moving from the angel’s forehead to his cheek, then the tip of his nose, and finally to his lips.

They exchanged light kisses for a while, and then Crowley nestled his head against Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, one arm draped across his chest, determined to enjoy the comfort of a good long cuddle before he dozed off.

Of course, one never actually remembered the exact moment of falling into sleep, though he must have done, for one second he was thinking about how warm and soft Aziraphale felt, and the next second he was nowhere at all, and then his eyes were suddenly open again, and he had the vague impression that several hours had passed by.

Crowley lay there, only half awake, still nestled in the same position, while Aziraphale was asleep, breathing evenly and deeply. 

He felt ever so drowsy. He yawned, and stretched his arm out before laying it across the angel’s chest once more. 

Then he whispered sweet nothings into Aziraphale’s ear, barely conscious of doing so, his brain not firing on all cylinders in the depth of night. He whispered something about his darling angel, not fully aware of the words, just murmuring whatever came floating up from his subconscious.

Aziraphale stirred, and stretched. “Hm. That’s nice, my dear.”

“Mm…what?” Crowley’s brain abruptly woke up the rest of the way. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale gazing lovingly into them. “Hey…you were right…I really _do_ speak endearments to you.”

“Of course you do. And it’s quite lovely. Now go back to sleep, my dear.”

“Can’t.” Crowley felt wide awake now. “I’m trying to remember what I just whispered into your ear.” What was it—darling angel? Sweet angel? He’d said it mere seconds ago, yet his brain had been so fogged from sleep that he barely recalled speaking at all. “That’s just weird. I ought to know.”

“What does it matter?”

“I don’t like the idea of talking when I’m half asleep, that’s what matters! What if I said something—I don’t know—unpleasant.”

He needed to be in control of what he said out loud, especially to the one person he loved more than the world. 

Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s chest. “I’m quite certain you’d never do so. You love me.”

“I know, but what might be rumbling round in my unconscious? I don’t like thinking about it.” Great. Now he’d never get back to sleep.

“ _Hush_. It doesn’t matter. You’re working yourself up for no reason at all.”

“I know. It’s what I _do_.” Crowley was perfectly aware that he had a tendency to overreact to things. He sighed. “Sorry. Now you’re awake, and I’m awake, and it’s the middle of the night.” Then he smiled. “Suppose we’ll just have to make the best of it, hm?”

He started massaging Aziraphale’s chest, while trailing kisses along his throat. 

“Ah…well, as long as we’re up….” Aziraphale returned the favor, and they caressed each other for quite some time, lavishing kisses here and there, and exchanging soft words, until Crowley yawned deeply.

“Think I’m going to nod off at last,” he murmured. But first he had one more kiss for his dear angel, on the lips. “Thanks.”

“Hm? What for?”

“For giving up your reading to come to bed with me. I know how much you love your books.”

“I do.” Aziraphale returned his kiss, longer, and more deeply. “But I love you a good deal more, my dear.”

Crowley yawned again, and closed his eyes as he lay his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Should hope so. I don’t have the hard edges of a book—easier to cuddle up to.”

He felt the angle poke a finger along his hip bone. “Not so certain of that.”

“Point…literally…taken….” His thoughts turned vague and hazy. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Sleep well, my love.”

And so he did, in the warm embrace of his dearest friend.


End file.
